The War Log of Mr Neville Longbottom
by willowscribe
Summary: "Everyone has bad days, I guess. The thing about my bad days, though, is that they are so completely, utterly, horrifyingly bad, that they hardly qualify as a bad day... Hello, fellow human being. And welcome to my life." Neville Longbottom's personal record of his seventh year of Hogwarts. Currently a oneshot.


**This is written as a oneshot for the Dear Diary Competition, though it may be continued if it garners enough interest. I don't remember Deathly Hallows in detail, so please forgive any small errors. Harry Potter is not mine, nor will it ever be. Enjoy!**

_The War Log of Mr Neville Franklin Aurelius Dmitri Longbottom, Seventh Year Student and Leader of the New Rebellion_

Log of Neville Longbottom – 01 September 1997

Everyone has bad days, I guess. The thing about my bad days, though, is that they are so completely, utterly, horrifyingly bad, that they hardly qualify as a bad day. If you were to look it up in a thesaurus, I think it would be something more like 'cataclysm of epic proportions'. Or perhaps, 'suffering undeserving of any human being.' My particular favourite is 'a typical day in the life of Neville Longbottom', but that may be considered a tad redundant.

Hello, fellow human being. And welcome to my life.

My name, if you are incapable of reading the heading above or if you were lazy and skipped it, is Neville Franklin Aurelius Dmitri Longbottom. A mouthful, I know. But all purebloods have ridiculous middle names; most just won't admit it. Me, I'm proud of my name, even if it makes me sound like a right tosser. My gran would always say that one day, I won't have to live up to my name, but my name will have to live up to me.

That day's pretty far in the future, I'll admit.

I'm seventeen years old, and I'm a seventh year Gryffindor student and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I started this log today, the first of September, because the Wizarding world is at war. Nowhere is safe, not even this school. Not only have they stolen control from our government, they're brainwashing our children. They, of course, being the Death Eaters. And so I can't feel safe even within these walls. Our new headmaster is Severus Snape, the foulest git that ever lived, and the teaching staff features some notable additions, including a set of siblings called the Carrows. They're sadistic bastards, all right, as I found out just today. 'But Neville! It's only the first day of school!' you might be saying. Well, damn straight it's the first day of school. And they already have it out for me.

And should something… you know… _happen_ to me, I want to have this log to stay behind. As a testament to who I am, what I lived through, and why I think we should still fight in this war. Because there is a war, even in this school. And the Carrows… well, they're the reason for my smashingly, stupendously, fantastically atrocious day.

I had a friend once. Her name was Hermione. She was smart, smarter than everyone in this room combined, and I'll tell you what – that's a lot of people, seeing as I'm in the Gryffindor common room right now. But Hermione was nice to me even when others weren't. I didn't have many friends because I was always sort of incompetent – still am, really, but I'm better at putting on a mask and acting tough now. But anyway, Hermione was so so smart, and she always used to tell me that I could do anything I wanted as long as I worked hard enough. Back when I was only eleven, her words meant the world to me, because when I was eleven, I couldn't even hold my wand straight half the time. And if Hermione Granger, the smartest person I have ever met in my entire life, told me something, it had to be true, even if it was an unbelievable as me being able to accomplish something.

They tortured me today. The Carrows, I mean, not Hermione. I spoke out about Snape being made Headmaster. Tried to start a ruckus. It almost worked – people were getting properly riled up when _they_ came. Right into the annex outside the Great Hall. Not the best place to start a rebellion, I'll admit, but hey, I was peeved and not thinking straight. They immobilized me, floated my down to the dungeons, and had me pinned up on the wall. I bet Filch was pleased; he finally got to use the thumb clamps and hang a student from the ceiling again.

Then they used the Cruciartus curse. They were good at it too. Could have gone on for hours, probably, expect McGonagall showed up and spoke up on my behalf. Said it was a first offense and I'd been properly punished already. Course, they argued for about thirty minutes while I just hung there, but it was better than having my nerves exploded from the inside out.

I thought about Mum and Dad the whole time. Wondering if they even felt it when their minds snapped. Wondering if I'd end up going the same way.

Merlin, I'm getting the paper all wet. My ink is going to run –

Okay.

I'm getting better at hiding my emotions too. People used to be able to read me like a book. Any slight, any taunt – they could see how much it hurt me. It's why I used to be a target for bullies… well, part of the reason. It helps that I'm now taller than most of my year, except maybe Dean Thomas, who I'm convinced is somehow related to the giants. Being taller gives me a bit of an intimidating frame… my gran says that when I stand up straight, my shoulders look broader and I look tough. I tried it once in the mirror, walking about, puffing my chest out, but the mirror finally got fed up with me and told me I looked like an idiot and to stop trying. Usually my mirror at home is pretty nice to me, but it can get very sassy when it's in a bad mood.

I didn't cry when they tortured me. I sometimes wonder if my parents cried.

Gran says my dad was brave. Braver than any man she'd ever met, and that included my granddad. He was made for Gryffindor, she would say, even when he was just a boy. It came as no surprise that he was Sorted there. My mum was a Gryffindor too. For the longest time, I always thought I could never live up to their legacy, their achievements, their sacrifices. But I don't think I have to. I'm fighting a different war now. I don't have to be my parents anymore.

Still, I sometimes wonder. Would they be proud of me? I like to think so, but I'll never really know.

Merlin, I need to stop this _crying_ thing. Maybe I'm more emotionally drained than I'd like to think. I don't usually go on like this when I think about my parents, I promise. Then again, with any luck, I won't die in this war, and then no one will ever have the read this and deal with my ramblings.

I never was that lucky, though.

Yes, I fully expect to die in the war. Which is why I won't let this session with the Carrows stop me. I'm going to do everything I can to help Harry, and if I die in the process, well, it was inevitable. I'm too incompetent to survive this war anyway.

But until then, I'm in the mood to organize a student-driven revolution. More detail in the morning.

Good night.


End file.
